


Palimpsest

by Argyle



Category: Abraham Lincoln: Vampire Hunter - Seth Grahame-Smith
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Mid-Canon, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 03:29:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3341882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Argyle/pseuds/Argyle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Abe's gaze was heavy, inscrutable. Henry couldn't help but understand with sudden certainty how a moth might feel beneath a naturalist's glass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Palimpsest

**Author's Note:**

> Just a little something for old Abe's bday ;)

Four hours of strength exercises, another three of agility training, tumbling, and terrain mastery: any physical or mental feat Henry could dream up and more, all of it for days on end— the lad was nigh indefatigable.

But Henry… Henry had become so engrossed in Abe's education that he hadn't made it into town for more than a month. Hadn't fed. Or not properly, for no number of stoats and hares, or even the doe he'd lately felled, satisfied his hunger in the same way a grown human would.

Now he found himself shivering, assaulted by Abe's sweat, his scent; the scant blood on his knuckles and all that flowed within him, ever-drumming like some grand machine. Abe had tackled him to the ground, a knee pinned to each side of his hips—

Abe's groin pressed against Henry's…

He was so warm. So warm and alive. But it would be easy to flip him over, grind him into the forest floor and simply— _No._ And then, haltingly: "Abraham. Please."

Abe stared down at him. Then his eyes widened and he was off Henry, reeling back into the dirt. "Sorry," he panted.

And Henry shook himself. Damn it all, but his pupils must have blown. His fangs had certainly descended; and though he could no more loathe them than an elm could loathe its leaves, he knew that he and Abe walked a narrow line. He was careful not to reveal himself lest he excite Abe's ire. Or his revulsion.

Henry got to his feet and turned away. "That's enough for today, Abraham."

The sound of Abe's approach was soft – he _was_ learning – but Henry's senses were too keyed up to be fooled. Abe's body might well have been a furnace set out in some unending tundra; his hand on Henry's shoulder was hot enough to scorch. "Henry."

"Go on ahead," Henry ground out. "I'll meet you back at the cabin."

"Let me see you, Henry. Please."

"You don't want that. Neither of us does."

Again: "Henry."

Henry puffed out a breath. Then he twisted his heel to stand face to face with his pupil, and oh but Abe's gaze was heavy, inscrutable. Henry couldn't help but understand with sudden certainty how a moth might feel beneath a naturalist's glass. He sighed. "Well. There it is."

He hadn't fully transformed; not really. His claws hadn't emerged, nor had his jaw dropped. He was used to keeping his baser nature in check. But he must have still looked a fright.

And yet Abe lifted a hand to Henry's cheek, gently running his fingertips over the raised veins. "What does it feel like?"

"Like Hell. Like some fell beast has got its paws round my spirit… Like it won't let go until I've done its bidding. And I relent. Every blessed time."

"English, Henry." Abe smiled shyly. His hand slid down to cup Henry's chin, the pad of his thumb ghosting over Henry's mouth. "Not Shakespeare."

Henry considered this. "It is pain," he said, taking Abe's hand in his own. "But more: it is ecstasy."

Abe's eyes narrowed. But of course: he was so young.

Henry pressed a dry kiss into Abe's palm. He closed his eyes; he willed his body into submission—coaxed the beast into its pen. And he met Abe's eye. "Fortunately… for the past three centuries, I have known the difference."


End file.
